whale bone
by moon landing boots
Summary: slight au. a coming-of-age tale of two boys, an orphanage, uncertainty, and the end result. rated T just in case.


word count: 2268

hope you enjoy!

* * *

It is at age ten (and a half) that it begins – the days where building blocks and toy cars are replaced with expanding vocabularies and new meanings to hidden objectives. It is at age ten (and a half) that Near understands fully that it is his destiny to become the new L when the old one dies.

He understands it so well that sometimes he'll pretend he doesn't. Sometimes to annoy a hormonal-driven Mello – whose emotions run rampant at the sight of a calm Near – and other times to remind himself that he is not a battery-charged robot. That he is human. That he is alive. That he is allowed to think for himself and not for the world.

It is also around this time that the (one-sided on Mello's part) rivalry between the two begins to take off into a whole new direction. What used to be who could score higher on the test becomes who can solve the crime-scene faster. Near can't say for sure that those afternoons sitting underneath the window, watching Mello anger quickly over math problems he doesn't understand or a quiz he scored lower on than Near were really something to miss so easily, but if he had to choose between growing up and staying in the orphanage forever, there really would be no option.

At this, this point in his life where his body takes on a new shape and the old him is pushed aside to make room for the new one, he realizes two things: one is that, after L dies, he will mostly likely become the successor and reality will never be so crueler. The second is that, after L dies, the little friendship Mello and Near share will most likely die along with him.

Near doesn't mind Mello. His presence makes the world push along just a tad smoother and the transitioning days aren't as suffocating. While Mello seeks to steal the famed winter title right from under him, Near seeks comfort in the chocolate-obsessed, blond-haired boy whose voice doesn't quite match the softness that will often run through his bright blue eyes.

Sure, he's scary. Sure, he's older. And sure, he could probably beat Near to a pulp without so much as a bat of an eye. But there are times (very rare times, might he add) where Mello will allow space for Near in his world, where his black-and-white tunnel vision will etch along silver for a few seconds. These are the times Near smiles at when he sits near the window, listening to Mello, wishing if, only for a second, the world would stand still.

.

.

It's another sweltering summer afternoon – Near inches along eleven and Mello flirts with twelve. Unlike the rest of the Wammy kids, who choose to stay in the air-conditioned rooms, the two dwell under the shade of a tree, watching clouds pass.

Mello has his long, lanky fingers tangled in Near's hair while Near's breath teeters irregular. Mello smells of the sun – golden and warm, comfort embracing him as they sit so, so close.

They're silent, like always. But the silence is comforting. From this position, he can watch Mello's chest rise and fall, rise and fall, and if he holds his breath, even hear the heartbeat that, every so often, will skip a beat. When he looks up, slits of sun filters through the trees and from up close, Near can see how beautiful Mello's tan face lights.

The first and last time Near recalls Mello ever calling him pretty was three weeks ago, right before their lips touched for the first time. Near still can't be sure if it was on impulse or if underlying feelings had come into play, but he can't forget the way his heart thumped violently in his chest, or how uncomfortable it was to sleep that night because the butterflies in his stomach wouldn't give him a break.

Roger says that's called love, though Near refuses to discuss its mechanics. He is just fine being in a rocky, unstable friendship with Mello, so the thought of love being thrown into the mix is too much to handle. He has trouble counting on two hands the number of times Mello's smiled at him, let alone how many times he's looked at him without the screen of hatred clouding over.

Near digs his palms and soles into the gross to better look at Mello's relaxed face. Their angle is impossible but Mello makes it work. Near almost smiles at how ridiculous they must look.

"What?" Mello growls, but it's void of anger.

"Nothing," Near's voice is calm, collected. In his simple, short reply, Mello grows agitated.

"Stupid brat," Mello mutters. His fingers untangle in Near's hair to descend to his jawbone, where they trace until they reach Near's lips. Near can't protest – the feeling of Mello's fingertips leaves him intoxicated.

He thumbs over the bottom lip, squishing, rolling squishing until it travels to the top where it continues, all the while his piercing cerulean blue eyes never leaves Near's, and that is what probably makes Near's heart pound furiously against his ribcage.

"Funny, huh?" Mello breathes out, subconsciously leaning in. His chocolate-ridden breath fans across Near's face. "I'm falling for a brat I can't even beat. This must not be my lifetime."

"Really?" Near doesn't know what else to say. He just hopes there'll be another chance to experience Mello's kiss.

"Yeah."

Just a little closer he leans until Near's nose brushes his own, and there's absolutely no other thoughts except the thought of tasting Near running through his mind. Near half-expects Mello to turn away, or laugh abruptly, or call him a pervert or something. But instead, the silence yet again takes over.

– Until, at least, Mello closes the distance. Then he can hear ringing in his ears and what he hopes to not be the feeling Roger described. He hears his body busying itself with the task of ridding itself of unneeded aspects to fit Mello in, the sound of his heartbeat and blood rushing allow this intruder in.

It lasts longer than the last one (with three seconds topping the previous time). When Mello pulls apart to face a red-cheeked, mouth slightly ajar eleven-year-old-boy whose only love experience is his rival, Mello can't help the light smirk that comes to surface.

"You look cute," Mello laughs.

Near, still dazed, falls onto Mello's chest and fills himself with the echoing thunders of Mello's melodious voice.

.

.

Two weeks after their second kiss, Near comes in first once again, and their days under the tree cease temporarily.

"I can't beat you," Mello growls, his hand crushing and crinkling the test paper. "I study and lose sleep over a fucking test to have you best me without even trying."

"Sorry," is all Near says because really, what else _can_ he say?

"Will 'sorry' change my grade?" The older hurls the crinkled paper at Near. It slaps and bounces off the bridge of his nose. "No, it won't. Just don't talk to me."

His anger-fueled steps fade behind the slammed door, where they mingle with all the other noises out there. Near slumps against the wall underneath the open window, purposely avoiding the sun that streams in. It reminds him too much of Mello.

It's lonely again, he decides. To not listen to Mello rant or talk about Matt, or feel his fingers easily slip in and out of his hair makes his chest hurt. And what Near can't believe more is that he's so easily allowed Mello to take control of his life. To fill his days with such absolution that even the smallest disruption leaves him drowning in inner turmoil.

Almost eight full days pass before Mello's grudge fades. After that, his reserve builds a wall too high for Near to climb and somehow, the days before are not the same.

Near doesn't apologize anymore. Mello starts blaming him more. Near likes Mello's presence, voice, scent, hands, eyes, so he pretends to be okay with their disintegrating relationship to stay by his side just a little longer.

But Mello's still gentle – just not like before. Before, his hands held resolve and affection when they'd meet any part of Near. Now, the meaning they carry is almost empty. The fireworks that used to explode in the back of Near's mind whenever Mello came around no longer detonate and his days begin to fill with the emptiness that would only present itself in Mello's absence.

Because he has no other choice – because he knows this is the only way he can salvage _any_ type of relationship with Mello, even if it's broken and irreparable, Near accepts the change.

But he doesn't like it.

.

.

There are no more afternoons spent under the tree in which the two would silently watch the world pass. No, now they are filled with something more damning – the preparation for a successor. Though the two compete, it's only Mello who takes it seriously. Near only wishes for the past to come back.

Roger says it's important. He says everything is important. To be able to serve the world from behind a smoke screen and ask for nothing in return is what makes choosing a successor so vital. But Near can't be bothered with things like _self-sacrifice_. If there's no future where Mello is beside him, he could care less.

The winter Near is thirteen, Mello fourteen, is a clash between who will beat who and who will beat who faster. Kira is only a side-thought; the real conflict lies between feelings neither can admit aloud. Mello, for his pride. Near, for his sanity.

But Near won't complain. When the two eventually go their separate ways to find their own methods to destroy Kira, the miniscule times Mello will visit or call will be enough to ease the young boy's nerves. To know that he crosses Mello's mind from time-to-time, even if it's only out of hatred, is enough.

.

.

"Don't go."

Near's emotions don't portray well into the receiver and whether or not Mello takes him seriously is unknown, but the loaded words are enough to weigh down on Near's chest until his own breathing becomes ragged and hoarse.

"Excuse me?"

"Please," Near breathes, "please don't go, Mello. Let's work together. We can beat Kira together so please don't go."

There's a long pause – silence envelops the call and Near's known Mello long enough to know just how the plea churns and how he digests it. He knows that it'll only fall on deaf ears, but he tries anyway, because maybe, just maybe, he might listen.

"Why would I want to work with you?" Comes a silent, too silent voice. Near's heartbeat races at the response.

"There's no sense if a great mind perishes before it can become something greater," Near quickly replies. "Did you forget those lessons, Mello?"

"Of course I didn't!" Mello barks. The tension from the other line is so intense that Near has a hard time pushing past it. "And even if I cared about the orphanage, do you think I'd want to work with you? You, who outdid me without trying? As if!"

Near is used to such cruel words, so it doesn't hurt. He could almost laugh at how pitiful he sounds, in fact. Begging such a man like Mello not to go. But even if Mello doesn't take heed of Near's caution and just lets it blow over, Near will still do anything it takes to be with Mello for as long as possible.

"That's fine, Mello." Near subconsciously twirls the phone cord with his finger. "I understand your feelings toward me. I'm sure you understand mine. That's why I beg you, let's work together. If you don't want to, that's also fine. But then I'll beg you not to go."

Mello's breathing becomes heavy and irregular. Near doesn't mean to aggravate Mello (really, he doesn't) but in situations like this, where the only thing that won't work is logic, Near can't think of anything else he can say or do to convince Mello is his life is so much more important than a stupid rivalry.

"To me," Mello begins, his voice hard and guarded, "winning is everything. Growing up, realizing that no matter what I do you'll _always_ be one step ahead of me is pretty shitty, you know? So even if I die proving that I can beat you at something, I'll be alright with that."

Near breathes, and before he can stop himself, he whispers, "I love you, Mello. Please don't go."

"Yeah, I already know," he laughs. His voice comes at raspy. "I've never felt the same way, but you were a nice distraction. Thank you for that, and thanks for loving me. I'm sorry things couldn't have worked out better between us."

The line clicks off at the same time Near finishes processing Mello's words. Then, there is silence.

.

.

They don't dig a grave for Mello or Matt which, in some way, might be befitting for an undercover hero's end.

Near doesn't cry. He never cries. Even when the news of Mello's death hits home and the impact is enough to send Near to bed early, he doesn't cry. Because he knows Mello fought for justice, fought for peace, fought for the world, and even though he'd never admit it, fought for Near. Knowing that he sacrificed himself for everyone – something that Near could never do – brings a soft smile to his face.

"Thank you, Mello."

.

.

end


End file.
